


Unusual Serendipity (you love me, but you don't know it yet)

by chocolatecrack



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Sexual Situations, Humor, M/M, Romance, how Yamada survives a shirtless Yuto every single time I do not know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatecrack/pseuds/chocolatecrack
Summary: The boy was in front of him. With ruffled jet-black bed hair, unzipped skinny jeans that had his boxers peeking underneath, a sleepy look in his eyes while he rubbed at them with his finger, a scar on his lip that was unusually sexy, and an unbelievably tall height. And he was shirtless.Oh.Fuck.





	Unusual Serendipity (you love me, but you don't know it yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takajima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takajima/gifts).



> Dear recipient,
> 
> I went with the "online shopping AU" prompt you presented but put a little twist to it! Was supposed to go for Magic AU but decided to save that (for you still!) later yup! However, due to my poor time management, this is only part 1 and 2. I shall continue parts 3 and 4 after! Promise!
> 
> And I know this might not be exactly what you're looking for but I really do hope you still enjoy it! You presented wonderful prompts by the way the ideas were greaaat
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS TO MY LOVELY BETA
> 
> UPDATE: Part 3 is up!!!!

The first time it happened, it wasn’t really all _that_ weird.

A delivery man knocks on Yamada’s door one fine Sunday afternoon, while he was busy trying to make a paper about the clear difference between exact measurements in baking and completely winging it in cooking. He just knows Inocchi-sensei was going to kill him if he asked for another extension. The paper was already late enough as it is.

But there were three knocks on his dorm door, not loud enough to be rude, but not quiet enough to be ignored. And he sighs, because the paper was already draining him enough, what more did the other people in the world want?

Grudgingly, he massages his temples, fixes his glasses, and gets up from his seat.

“9248?” the delivery man immediately asks the moment he had opened the door.

“That is my room number, yes,” Yamada points to the gold 9248 number plate plastered on his door.

“Right. Delivery for you,” the man gestures to a receiving slip on a clipboard, on top of the huge box he was carrying. Not really bothering to think about it, and honestly just wanting to get it over with, Yamada signs the slip in his signature. The man hands him the box after, which was surprisingly not _that_ heavy, grabs the clipboard, greets him a “Have a good day,” and walks away.

“Thank you,” Yamada calls out, mumbling the words. He brings the box inside his dorm, settles it on his living room floor, and sighs again.

On his way back to this study table, dragging his feet lazily, some form of realization hits his brain, remembering he had not ordered anything in the past few weeks. Or days. And definitely not in the amount that it would be necessary to put it in a big box.

So who the _hell_ was the delivery for?

“Wait,” he furrows his eyebrows, brisk walking his way back to his living room, and inspects the box. Some words were printed in big red letters on the side, along with an inappropriate keyhole shaped logo that had the side profile of a woman’s body.

_SEDUCTIONE. WORLD’S BEST ALCOHOLIC CHOCOLATE. NUMBER ONE APHRODISIAC. BOX CONTAINS 100 BARS._

_What the actual fuck?_

He thinks that, okay, first of all, who the hell even uses Latin anymore? It’s a goddamn dead language.

Second, who the hell orders seductive alcoholic chocolate? _100 bars_ of it. Was this some sort of joke? Was it a kink or whatever?

“ _Ugh_. I don’t have time for this,” he threads his fingers through his hair, sighing again for good measure.

But his eyes flick to a recipient slip taped on the box, with details and information. Like the address, a contact number, a name.

A _name_.

He hurriedly circles the box, looks at the white slip clearly to read the name out loud.

“Nakajima Yuto?”

He’s sure he’s heard of that name before. Probably in passing, or in a conversation. Or maybe in class. But he’s heard of it, he was positive. There was something familiar about it. Hmm.

Then his eyes switch to the address, in someone’s scratchy handwriting, and _finally_ he gets it.

924 _9_.

Right.

He was the boy who lived next door.

The boy Yamada never really sees, actually. Because apparently he was either always holed up in his dorm doing some project or whatever, or he’s not there at all. Yamada only had a short glimpse of him that one morning, but the air was too foggy for him to see the boy clearly anyway.

The dorm number was so scratchy, the delivery man must’ve mistaken the 9 for an 8.

So now Yamada had a hundred bars of alcoholic chocolate in his living room because the delivery man had mistakenly thought it was supposed to be his.

Great.

“Might as well,” he says, defeated, picking up the apparently not-so heavy box and decides to deliver it to the boy next door.

He walks his way to the next door apartment, the apartment between his and Chinen’s, which was always so mysterious and quiet.

“Alcoholic chocolate? Seriously? Who are you gonna use that on?” Chinen smirks from the next door porch as teases Yamada, a shirtless Takaki chuckling beside him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Yamada just sighs, yet again, knowing Chinen was going to use this against him as some form of blackmail, “It’s not mine.”

He had forgotten that the words _ALCOHOLIC CHOCOLATE_ were printed in big red letters on the side of the box. For the world to see.

“This afternoon just keeps getting better,” he says sarcastically, struggling to knock on the door. But he places a good three knocks on it, fist hitting wood steadily, waiting for the door to be answered.

He shifts on his spot, impatient. “Uhm,” he speaks up, wishes the boy inside could hear him, “Hello? Anyone in there?”

A few heartbeats pass, and the door was still not answered, which was slowly irritating Yamada because he had a goddamn paper that was not going to write itself, thank you very much. He needed all the time he could get his hands on.

Opening his mouth to speak again, he was about to shout louder, bang on the door with his knuckles, when the entrance suddenly flies open, and he’s suddenly forgotten what he was supposed to do.

Because.

_Well._

The boy was in front of him. With ruffled jet-black bed hair, unzipped skinny jeans that had his boxers peeking underneath, a sleepy look in his eyes while he rubbed at them with his finger, a scar on his lip that was unusually sexy, and an unbelievably tall height. And he was shirtless. _Oh._

_Fuck._

Yamada didn’t really want to gape. But his jaw was stuck in place, and he couldn’t help but stare because never had he been so attracted in his entire existence. Which said a lot because he studied in a freakin’ Performing Arts school, for fuck’s sake. Everyone was attractive in their own way.

But this boy.

 _Wow_.

The boy, the _really attractive_ boy, furrows his eyebrows however, like he had somehow only processed that Yamada was in front of him.

“Huh,” he speaks, and Yamada just wants to melt, really, but he tries his hardest not to, “You’re too good looking to be a delivery guy.”

And okay, what the actual fuck, this boy had a voice that sounded like sweet caramel drizzled on top of strawberries and whipped cream and _god_ , Yamada wants a taste. Of everything.

Not to mention he had just said he was good looking, and Yamada swears, his heart was threatening to burst.

“U-uhm,” Yamada tries to gather his voice, wills himself to speak, “I’m not a delivery guy.”

“Oh?” the boy tilts his head to the side adorably, “But you have my package?”

“They thought it was mine,” Yamada chewing on his lip nervously, mentally slapping himself for reacting to the boy saying _my package_. Oh, he definitely had a package alright. It was a bit obvious through the boxers peeking underneath the unzipped skinny jeans. Not that Yamada was staring. “Thought the 9 was an 8.”

“Oh, I get it,” the boy drawls on in a voice that was groggy and husky and extremely sexy and Yamada was going to turn into a puddle of goo. Any minute now.

Yamada shyly hands him the box, and the taller boy, in his sleepy state, which was actually a pretty normal look in their school, opens his arms wide to take the box from him. Their fingers brush against each other, which sends tons of tingles down Yamada’s entire being, and really, he needs to stop being so star struck. He was just a normal boy. Normal, very attractive, boy. No need to lose his mind over that.

“Thank you so much for this,” the taller boy smiles, sets the box down somewhere on the floor. Then, as if just processing what had just happened, he widens his eyes and a look of panic surfaces on his face. “Oh my god, shit, I’m so sorry for the commotion!!” he bows extremely low, and Yamada was actually kind of surprised at the sudden change in character.

“Oh, hey, it’s okay, these things happen. It’s fine, don’t—”

“I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll tell them to be more careful next time!”

“No, seriously, please lift your head,” the taller boy does so, stares into his eyes with his really pretty ones and Yamada breathes again to compose himself, “It’s really no problem,” he struggles to say.

“Can I at least make it up to you?” the boy steps closer, and Yamada’s breath hitches when the space minimizes between them.

“U-uhm,” he gulps, “Nah, it’s uh, it’s good. It’s really no hassle.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,”

The boy bites his lip, and again Yamada’s heart reacts to that, and embarrassingly scratches the back of his head in a really cute and boyish way and okay, _stop it Ryosuke_ , this is insane.

Finally settling the box down, the boy sticks out his hand, “Nakajima Yuto. So we at least know each other after this stupid mistake,” he chuckles, hoping for a good response.

Yamada shakes the boy’s—Yuto, because of course he has an attractive name too—hand, completely trying to ignore all the goddamn sparks flowing through his veins when their skins touched. “Yamada Ryosuke.”

“Pretty name,” Yuto says out loud, not a hint of regret or embarrassment on his face, like he had meant to say it. And make the butterflies in Yamada’s stomach flutter with excitement.

Yamada shyly pulls his hand away, “Thanks.”

“I’d invite you in but uh,” Yuto looks around behind him, “Place is a goddamn mess.”

“Oh, it’s no need, I’m busy with a paper anyway,”

“Right,”

Yamada could almost feel the awkward tension in the air. He opens his mouth to break the ice, to say goodbye so he could go back to his life of locking himself in his apartment and drowning himself in schoolwork when Yuto beats him to it.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Yuto says in a chipper voice, pairing the words with a wide smile and a light in his eyes and Yamada couldn’t really help but say yes.

“Yea, definitely,” and then he inwardly rolls his eyes at himself for sounding too eager, “I mean, sure. Yea. Okay.”

Yuto chuckles again, “It was nice meeting you, Ryosuke.”

Yamada’s heart skips a beat.

“Nice meeting you too, Yuto.”

* * *

 

The second time it happened, it kind of surprised Yamada that it happened _again_.

He doesn’t know if the courier company was doing it on purpose, or maybe the delivery guy had some sort of motive, or maybe the universe was playing tricks on him, whatever. He honestly just doesn’t know. Because at another fine afternoon, exactly a week after the alcoholic chocolate debacle, there were three knocks again on his door.

And when he looks out the window, it’s the same delivery guy.

Yamada wasn’t really all that mad, because maybe it had just been a coincidence or something? But it was a little irritating, since he was trying to relax now after a long week of deadlines, and there was nothing more annoying than having your sleep get disturbed by some delivery that wasn’t even yours.

He opens his door wide.

“9248?”

“That’s probably for next door,” he doesn’t waste breath and just goes for it, “Maybe it says 9249?”

“Nah, pretty sure it’s a 9248,” the delivery guy chews loudly on his gum, shoves the clipboard towards Yamada, who would’ve reacted to the rude gesture, but he was too tired to even fight.

“Fine,” he angrily scratches down his signature, “Where’s the package?”

The delivery guy hands him a teddy bear, leaves in a hurry, mumbling something about having to make a few more deliveries before the afternoon is done, and Yamada is left alone again. With Yuto’s package. Wrongly delivered to his door.

“At least it’s not as weird this time,” he sighs, before he decides to properly look at the bear, staring into its brown beady eyes.

And then he starts noticing.

The mask around the bear’s eyes. The weird looking collar. Handcuffs on the paws. Some spandex looking outfit. It he didn’t know any better the bear was—

Yup. Definitely. The bear was dressed in it. Completely covered in what seems to be BDSM gear. Smile on its mouth turning creepier by the minute.

“Okay, what the _fuck_?” Yamada stomps his way to Yuto’s front porch, not even bothering to hide the very inappropriate looking bear in his hands. He reaches the taller boy’s door, doesn’t bother with soft knocks and instead bangs on the door with his fist, because this was weird and confusing and why does he have to deal with it anyway?

“Yuto, _open up_ ,” he calls out, definitely not noticing how Yuto’s name somehow fits the sounds of his voice. Like he was meant to say it for some reason. How it seems familiar on his tongue and his lips, even though he had just met the boy sometime last week.

When there wasn’t an answer to the door, Yamada bangs on it again, “Yuto, you have another package that was somehow wrongly delivered for some reason and—”

The taller boy opens the door abruptly, big and wide, a small smile on his lips, eyes bright, aura excited. “Oh hey, Ryosuke!” he greets in an upbeat tone, “Sorry I was doing something and—”

“Yea, well, there’s this package—” Yamada starts to say, holding the bear awkwardly in his hands, considering what the stuffed toy was wearing. About to continue, he lifts his head, tries to look at Yuto’s face, but his eyes travel behind the taller boy, and he spots two other people, boys about their age, standing in the living room. He recognizes them both from his Acting Class, one of them he had a project with, and the other his classmate from High school.

He was about to just ignore them, but before he could stop himself from looking on, his eyes cast down, lower and lower, until he sees the very revealing clothing the pair was wearing. If there were clothing left, even. And then his brain starts to process more things, like how the material was spandex and leather, a collar on one boy, handcuffs on the other, masks in their hands, until he realizes that the boys were wearing exactly what the bear in his hands was wearing. Exactly the same.

And Yuto, tall and good looking Yuto, with his unruly hair and lopsided grin, had no shirt on. Yet again.

He put two and two together—or in this case, three—and then his cheeks beet red because he thinks he might’ve stepped into something that should’ve been private.

“Oh, shit,” he curses, blush intensifying, Yuto looking at him with a confused expression.

“What is it?”

“I’m so sorry, oh my gosh,” Yamada says hurriedly, fumbling with the bear in his hands, as he passes it to Yuto and tries not to drop the fluffy thing, “I didn’t know—the door was—you answered and—I’m so sorry!”

Yuto moves closer, “Sorry for?”

“I’ll see you next time, I didn’t know I was disturbing something, I’ll just—” Yamada steps back, almost hitting something on Yuto’s porch, “I’ll go, I’m sorry, I—” and he runs, trying not to trip.

He thinks he hears Yuto calling for him, calling his name, but he was too fucking embarrassed to care, so he runs faster, back to his own apartment, opens the door hurriedly, and shuts it with a slam.

Was Yuto into those kinds of things? With those guys? Was that his preference? And there were three of them so that means…

Yamada vigorously shakes his head, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he lightly hits the back of his head on his wooden door.

Because _why_?

Why was his heart beating faster?

And why is it that he’s afraid of whatever the hell that means?

 _Why_?

* * *

 

 

The third time it happened, and well, that’s it, Yamada has had _enough_.

“ _Ugh,_ ” he groans in frustration, pushing away from his desk, chair’s legs screeching on the floor irritatingly, as he grudgingly walks his way to his front door.

“Look—” he starts, but the delivery man, the same goddamn delivery man, shoves the clipboard towards him and he’s _tired_ so what the fuck, he signs the papers, and slams his door shut.

A package for Yuto. Of course it was.

That he apparently forgot outside. Right.

He brisk walks his way back to his door and when he angrily opens it wide, he’s greeted by Hikaru and Yabu’s faces, both obviously trying to hold in laughter. Fantastic.

Yamada rolls his eyes, “It’s not mine,” he says through gritted teeth, “Whatever the fuck it may be.”

Hikaru tries hard not to burst out laughing, “Sure it isn’t,” he sways while standing, and Yamada just _knows_ he was hiding the package behind him, “Didn’t know you were into things like this.”

“How do you last that long?” Yabu continues, and that was it, that was the trigger. He and Hikaru couldn’t hold it in any longer, and they burst out laughing, Yabu doubling over from the hilarity.

Yamada sighs. Great, now his friends think he’s some sex-crazed kink freak who orders alcoholic chocolate, a BDSM teddy bear, and some other kinky shit online.

Speaking of kinky shit, “Give it,” he holds out his hand, “He may be expecting it already.”

“He?” Hikaru raises an eyebrow, “Who is this _he_ of whom you speak?”

“Do we know him?” Yabu adds.

“Is he attractive?”

“Do you guys use this all the time?”

“Why does it need to be packaged like this anyway?”

Yamada throws up his hands, exasperated, “I don’t even know what the fuck it is!”

And Hikaru really can’t take it anymore, so he laughs some more, his boyfriend beside him doing the same, and shoves the package towards Yamada.

Oh, it was a bouquet.

“What’s so weird about a bouquet?” he asks out loud, more to himself than to Hikaru and Yabu.

But there was a catch. Because there always was. The chocolate was alcoholic. The teddy was dressed in BDSM gear. _There was a goddamn catch_.

So Yamada inspects the bouquet, looks past the pretty paper wrapped around the bundle of—

Yea. Condoms. Why the hell not.

A bouquet of condoms. Neatly wrapped in red and pink and white paper and Yamada was losing his shit. Really.

He stomps his way to Yuto’s apartment, and he was _furious_ , because once was an incident. Twice was a coincidence. But thrice is a goddamn pattern, and maybe Yuto was making a statement here, or maybe the other boy was trying to get into his pants or whatever but there were other, better ways of doing it and this whole ‘not-so-accidentally sending sexual items to his front door’ was not that better way.

“Where are you going?” Yabu calls out to him, but Yamada doesn’t even turn to the older boy’s direction when he responds.

“To yell at some idiot,”

“Same idiot who sent you the condom bouquet?” Hikaru says louder, and Yamada is too _done_ to even care about volume.

“ _Same damn idiot_ ,” he emphasizes, maybe purposely making sure his footsteps get heard on Yuto’s front porch.

He doesn’t even care enough to knock.

“Look, _jerk_ ,” he starts, barging into the apartment, talking with acid, “I don’t know what sort of message you’re trying so desperately to send here, but it’s pretty damn obvious you’re trying to send one. And it’s getting on my goddamn nerves so quit the dilly-dallying and get to the _fucking point_ before I file a restraining order.”

Yamada says the whole sentence in one breath, and he wants to stop there, but he just couldn’t keep the words from coming out of his mouth. He flails the condom bouquet around, “And we met what? Just two? Or three? Three weeks ago! And to be very fucking honest, you’re starting to creep me the fuck out.”

He turns around, and around, trying to locate some tall mysterious boy standing in the overly spacious living room, except Yamada can’t find him and he can’t believe he wasted all that breath and all those words because Yuto _wasn’t even there_.

“Yamada-kun?” a voice from a corner in the living room says, and Yamada whips his head to find out who it came from. Because it sure as hell wasn’t Yuto. The voice was a girl’s.

“Oh,” he says, then he processes things well, and then he stands there with his mouth open because he knows who this girl was.

“Are you friends with Yuto?” she says sweetly, an innocent smile on her face as she leans her chin on the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on her knee, her legs crossed as she sat on the high stool.

He tries to remember her name. Classmate from High School. Classmate in Acting class.

“Suzuka?” Yamada questions, knows he was right, but wanting to make sure at least. Then he says the question ringing in his head out loud, “What are you doing here? You know _him_?”

Ohgo Suzuka giggles sweetly, her laugh sounding that of an amused one, “Sort of. Too lazy to explain,” She shifts on her seat, readjusts what she was wearing, “I’d stand to hug you but…yea,” she laughs again.

“But—” Yamada furrows his eyebrows because the confusion keeps on growing and growing because why was Suzuka here? Does she have something with Yuto? Why is this Yuto person so involved with so many people? And the confusion grows even more because, much as he was trying to avoid it, his eyes cast down and he sees that Suzuka was struggling to sit because apparently the girl was wrapped in a towel. Wearing only a towel. Nothing underneath the towel. He blushes because seriously, how is it that his timing was the absolute worst? “Oh, shit am I interrupting something again or—”

And Yuto has of course the _best_ timing as well because he appears from somewhere inside the apartment. The boy looks like he just came out of the shower, with water running down his body, dripping wet hair that looked sexy and irresistible, some stuck to his forehead and Yamada wants to stop the thoughts about running his fingers through the jet-black strands but he really can’t stop them. Really can’t.

“Oh, Ryosuke, hey!” he cheerily greets, towel around his hips _dangerously_ low. Then his eyes spot the condom bouquet in Yamada’s hands, “My package, _finally!_ I was starting to think it was never going to _come_ ,” Yamada’s ears perk at the word ‘come’, and really the words ‘package’ and ‘come’ in one whole sentence, uttered by none other than Yuto. Seriously? And Yamada was holding a condom bouquet in his hand and how goddamn appropriate, “I was starting to get nervous because I didn’t know what I was going to use on Suzuka this afternoon, thank god.”

Okay, this was _insane_.

Yamada bursts, because well.

“WHY ARE YOU _ALWAYS_ SHIRTLESS ANYWAY?!?!?!?”

Yuto just tilts his head to the side, surprised by the outburst, but not enough to be taken aback, “Why am I…what?”

“ _Always. Shirtless._ Every time I go here, always!” Yamada throws his arms up. He stomps towards Yuto, shoves the condom bouquet in his direction, towards his still wet torso, and Suzuka giggles from the sidelines, utterly amused by the image in front of her.

“You’ve been here a couple of times, Yamada-kun?” she says teasingly, but Yamada doesn’t have time to respond to the question.

“And these packages the delivery guy keeps ‘ _accidentally_ ’ delivering to my doorstep,” he air quotes, “And you using them on other people?????? What are they supposed to mean anyway????” he steps closer, and Yuto doesn’t even flinch, the space minimizing between them.

“Uhm…” Yuto scratches the back of his head, and in Yamada’s peripheral vision, he sees the towel ride a _little_ lower, “Sorry?”

Yamada groans in frustration, “What are you running some kind of kink house or sex parlor or some shit????”

“Kink house?” Yuto holds in laughter, “Sex parlor?”

Yamada narrows his eyes because the younger boy was laughing and this was no laughing matter. His sanity was at stake, “Seductione. Alcoholic chocolate,” he starts enumerating, “A teddy bear dressed in BDSM gear,” he steps closer again and Yuto was just smiling at him, which frustrated him even more, “A freakin’ condom bouquet, for fuck’s sake!”

Yuto’s expression changes after the last word, like he had somehow finally understood what Yamada was trying to say, “Ohhhhh, I get it,” he steps closer too, and now Yamada was aware of how close Yuto actually was to him. And how small the space between them had gotten. And how tall Yuto was. “It’s not what you think, really,” the taller boy says sheepishly, almost shyly.

Yamada opens his mouth to respond, but Yuto beats him to it, “I need those items. For her. And them. The other guys you saw the other week. I use it on them. For my—”

But the words swim in Yamada’s brain, the words ‘ _I use it on them’_ particularly stand out and there was only so much he can take.

“You know what, stop, okay? Enough. This is too much information blah, blah, blah,” he collects himself, covering his ears, and started walking towards Yuto’s front door, wanting to get out as quickly as possible, “I do not want to hear it!”

“No, it’s not—!”

“Keep me out of your sexual escapades, Nakajima Yuto!!!” Yamada yells as he exits the apartment, “I want no part of these kinky fantasies of yours!!!” he slams the door shut, breathing hard, his heart beating fast inside his chest.

The sound of uncontrollable, hilarity ensued laughter could be heard next door, and Yamada sees Hikaru and Yabu on his front porch, tears in their eyes, holding probably hurting stomachs.

“Yamada, that was gold!”

Then he realizes that he had said the words, loud and clear. Yelling. With intense feeling. Sexual escapades. Kinky fantasies. And he couldn’t stop himself from face palming, knowing he can’t explain this well enough for anyone to believe.

So maybe he had just dug his own grave, but at least now he had an excuse to be absent for the rest of his classes today. And tomorrow. And possibly till the end of the semester. Yup.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Parts 3 and 4 after!
> 
> UPDATE: Part 3 is up!!!


End file.
